


Danger Close

by trill_gutterbug



Series: Change in the R.O.E. [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Informal D/s Elements, M/M, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: "I think about sex all the time," Nate continues, because now it’s just ridiculous and he’s possessed by the wild urge to lean into it. “When I’m not jerking off thinking about leading men into combat, I’m jerking off about supply orders, or about brass checking the Mark-19, or -”Now Mike does laugh, like Nate had wanted him to. But then he says, “Or about Brad,” and that brings Nate to a screeching halt.





	Danger Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linguamortua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/gifts).



> As usual, this is for/because of lingua, who is a menace.

There isn’t much in the way of privacy at the camp south of Baghdad, but it’s better than anything they had during the invasion proper. And anyway, Mike reminds him, grinning, Marines make do.

“Is that what this is? Making do?” Nate asks, pretending he doesn’t notice Mike’s hand on his hip. He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job. His heart started pounding the second Mike looked at him sideways in that particular way as they left the bombed out common room, trailed by the racket of second platoon enjoying Lilley’s film project. In the courtyard, instead of angling toward the rows of tents on the field, Mike had touched his elbow and said, “Hey, I want to show you something.”

 _Something_ turned out to be a little room that probably used to be a maintenance closet behind a derelict boiler unit. It doesn’t have a roof, now, and one wall is crumbled low enough that if Nate stands on his toes, he can see over it. But it does have, against all odds, a door that mostly shuts, and the additional virtue of overlooking the barren gulley that appends their camp, in the opposite direction of where most of the evening’s activities are going on. It’s the closest thing to discreet Nate can imagine existing in this precarious, bustling place.

“Nah,” Mike says, his grin getting softer. “This is judiciously taking advantage of a tactical asset.”

That wasn’t quite what Nate meant, but he doesn’t say so. He isn’t sure exactly what he meant. He closes his eyes as Mike steps in, trying to slow his breathing. His heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of his chest. Mike’s hand slips around his hip, to the small of his back, but he doesn’t pull Nate in. He just stands there, close enough Nate can feel his fatigues move with every breath.

“Okay?” Mike asks.

Nate nods without opening his eyes.

“You sure?”

Nate takes a second to double-check. Is he okay? He’d felt, before Mike brought him out here, like he wanted to throw up, or lie down and sleep for a week. Business as usual.

“Yeah,” he says.

Mike chuckles, like he’d read Nate’s mind. He leans closer, his arm pressing Nate’s. It seems weird to just stand here without reciprocating, but Nate isn’t sure what to do, what he’s supposed to do. His fingers, of their own accord, find a fold of Mike’s fatigues at the waist and curl around it. When Mike’s breath touches Nate’s neck, he drops his head to the side, exhaling with a shakiness that’s audible even to himself. It’s embarrassing, so he keeps his eyes shut.

“You smell good,” Mike tells him, low and deep and so close to Nate’s ear that Nate twitches, his breath catching.

“Having a shower will do that.” Nate tries to be flippant, maybe flirty, but it comes out just as shaky as his breathing. He wants to tell Mike he smells good too, that he always seems to smell good regardless of their proximity to showers, but he doesn’t trust himself to say that much out loud. He stands still, letting Mike lean over him and hold him at the waist like a Jane Austen heroine. When Mike finally kisses his neck, it nearly makes him jump out of his skin. Goosebumps shoot over the back of his shoulders, down his arms, up his scalp. His fingers tighten involuntarily on Mike’s fatigues. Mike’s mouth is hot and gentle against the side of Nate’s throat, touching the length of the tendon Nate knows must be standing out rigid with tension.

“Shit,” Nate whispers. He realizes, to his acute horror, that he’s starting to shiver. It’s like the adrenaline rush of rookie combat, but even more mortifying. He swallows. Mike’s mouth follows the motion, finding his Adam’s apple, then moving up, under the edge of Nate’s jaw, along it to the tender spot beneath his ear. His teeth close on Nate’s earlobe. Nate shudders so hard he almost sags, but Mike pulls him closer and, at the same time, steps forward to press Nate against the brick wall behind him. Their M1s, still hanging from their slings, clatter together.

Nate lets out a little sound, choking it off halfway, but Mike answers with a quiet noise of his own, his hand on Nate’s back pinning their bodies together. The day’s worth of stubble on Mike’s cheek scrapes the corner of Nate’s jaw, prickling him all over again with a wash of goosebumps. He feels raw, overwhelmed. His free hand comes up to Mike’s shoulder, gripping his collar.

“Okay?” says Mike again, lifting his firm, careful bite from Nate’s neck. There won’t be marks, Nate knows that, but he also thinks maybe there would be, if these were any other kind of circumstances.

Nate nods. It makes his stomach flip, how often Mike asks him that, although he’s not sure if it’s with embarrassment or appreciation. Maybe that’s just how Mike operates, and it has nothing to do with Nate.

Nate’s had exactly two girlfriends, one in highschool and the other in college, and although he’s sure his emotions for both of them had been genuine, there was always something not quite right with the relationships. He can’t put his finger on it even now, and at the time he’d barely been aware there was a problem until things ended, but he remembers acutely the awkwardness of trying to be firm and capable during sex and failing utterly. They’d seemed to want him to do things he suspected he should have an intuitive grasp of, but puzzling out exactly _what_ was like trying to read complicated instructions in a foreign language. With Mike, it’s like the instructions have been taken gently from his hand by a native speaker. He doesn’t need to fumble and feign fluency. He only needs to hand over the reins and follow Mike’s lead. A good officer knows when to make decisions and when to rely on the men around him, and Nate likes to think he’s a good officer. He tries not to think about it much beyond that.

Mike’s looking at him from so close the edges of his crooked smile are fuzzy. One of his white-blond eyebrows quirks. “What are you thinking?”

Nate hesitates. It’s another question Mike asks him all the time, although not usually in this context. He asks when Nate’s frowning at a map, or peering through binoculars at foot mobiles, or deciding how best to array the humvees in defilade. It’s automatic for Nate to want to answer, to get his thoughts in order and relay them to Mike, whose job it is to figure out what Nate needs, what the platoon needs, and provide it.

“About sex,” Nate says honestly.

Mike laughs. “Yeah. Me too.”

Nate knows he’s going red. Another of his excruciating idiosyncrasies. “No, I mean…” He trails off. Mike doesn’t need to know every insecurity to cross his mind, discretion being the better part of valor, but it’s too late.

“What?” says Mike. He hasn’t let Nate go, hasn’t even leaned away, but Nate can feel the sudden cautious distance between them. He doesn’t like it, so he pushes forward, pressing their chests together. That kneejerk impulse to project confidence he doesn’t feel, to act like he knows what’s going on, catches him in its claws.

He smiles. “I mean stop making me wait.”

Mike’s eyebrow lifts higher, but he doesn’t call Nate’s bluff. He says, with obvious amusement, “Is that right?”

Nate swallows. He’s hungry, but he barely understands for what. “Yeah.” His mouth is directly in kissing range, which he hopes Mike is interested in noticing.

“You think about sex a lot?” Mike says, instead of doing anything preferable, like putting his tongue in Nate’s mouth.

Nate snorts. “Are you joking?”

Mike shrugs. There’s something in his eyes Nate can’t quite parse. A knowing spark. “Some people don’t.”

“I do,” Nate insists, aware of himself bristling, like Mike is insinuating something derogatory.

“Alright,” Mike agrees, smiling again. Not quite laughing.

“All the time,” Nate continues, because now it’s just ridiculous and he’s possessed by the wild urge to lean into it. “When I’m not jerking off thinking about leading men into combat, I’m jerking off about supply orders, or about brass checking the Mark-19, or -”

Now Mike does laugh, like Nate had wanted him to. But then he says, “Or about Brad,” and that brings Nate to a screeching halt.

He feels the grin die on his face. “What?”

Mike’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still smirking down at Nate, pressed up against him. “You heard me.”

Nate heard him, alright. He heard him so clearly all the blood has turned tail straight out of his head. “That’s...” He squirms. Mike’s hands loosen, but don’t let him go. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mike’s smile softens. “It’s okay, Nate. Nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t know what you’re even - I -” As soon as he becomes aware he’s stammering, he stops speaking. He wants to sink backwards through the wall and disappear from view.

Mike leans in to brush his cheek against Nate’s, rubbing on him. His voice is very low, growling by Nate’s ear. “You’d be crazy not to think about him. Hell, I do.”

Nate somehow finds enough spit in his mouth to swallow. His hands are still clutching Mike’s fatigues. He manages to say, “You do?”

“Well.” Mike chuckles. It vibrates through Nate’s chest. “I think about you thinking about him.”

Nate exhales through his teeth. He feels guilty, he realizes. Guilty and embarrassed and caught, like his dad just flipped over his mattress and found his porn mags, or something equally cliched and humiliating. Sternly, he reminds himself that he’s a grown man and Mike isn’t his dad. He hasn’t, technically, done anything wrong. Grown men can talk to each other about this kind of thing and it’s not weird. Maybe this is even a game Nate can play.

“What do you…” The words stick in his throat. “Uh.”

Mike, as usual, knows exactly what he means. His voice is teasing, in that gravelly, coaxing way that always makes Nate’s hair stand on end. “Brad’s a smart guy, huh? He’d know just what to do with you.”

Nate shuts his eyes. Screw sinking back through the wall, he’d like a bottomless pit to open under the camp and consume him and everything he knows all at once. He doesn’t even know what to do with _himself._

Mike goes on, either not noticing or unconcerned by Nate’s mortification. “He’d do anything you asked him to, you know that? He’d let you suck his dick, if you wanted.”

Nate feels his face warm up by at least ten degrees, all at once, like Mike has cranked some secret internal thermostat. His eyes feel hot behind his lids. He hasn’t sucked dick in something like four years, long enough ago that he can’t remember whose dick it was, but his mouth doesn’t seem to have forgotten anything. It gets wet, like the thought of cock - of _Brad’s_ cock - is the impossible promise of a meal that doesn’t come prepackaged. He must make some kind of noise, or go tense, because Mike hums a little encouraging sound and rubs at the small of Nate’s back. He tugs the waist of Nate’s fatigues, pulling them up snug. It’s nothing, it’s less than nothing, just the pressure of his own fucking pants against his balls and the crack of his ass, but Nate’s already-interested dick jerks at the feeling, fattening. He definitely makes a sound this time, hips hitching forward against Mike. Mike pushes back, grinding him into the wall.

“He’d be nice about it,” Mike goes on, rough, right by Nate’s ear, “but he knows what he wants. He’d show you how he likes it, and you’d be real good for him, wouldn’t you?”

Nate breathes hard and keeps his eyes and his mouth shut. Mike’s other hand slides down his chest, down his belly, over the front of his fatigues. Nate pushes into the touch, the curve of Mike’s palm fitting over the head of his cock through his clothes. His head is swimming. He wants to peel out of his fatigues and let Mike’s big hands soothe the itchy flush rising all over his body, but he holds still. Mike knows what he’s doing. Nate is assured of this.

“What do you think about?” Mike asks. “When he looks at you like you run the world and he’s glad about it. What do you want him to do to you when he looks like that?”

Nate couldn’t possibly answer if the question was put to him under torture. His throat is cinched too tight for anything but a pleading whine to sneak through. Mike’s hand is moving, slow and firm, over his cock, through his trousers. It’d be uncomfortable, but at this point Nate thinks he could rub off on sandpaper and enjoy it.

“You want me to tell you how I think it’d go?” Mike nuzzles Nate’s pounding jugular, like he can smell the arousal and mortification in Nate’s rushing blood and wants to taste it.

Nate hesitates, then nods.

“When he’s got his helmet off,” Mike says. “When his hair’s all fucked up and he’s sweaty and sunburnt, looking like death, like he’s so tired he could fall asleep on his feet. I think it’d be nice if someone sucked his dick for him when he looks like that, don’t you?”

Mike’s thumb rubs at the head of Nate’s cock, little circles that make Nate bite the inside of his cheek. His hesitation this time is longer, but Mike seems to be waiting for an answer, so he nods again.

“I think it’d be sweet of you to get down on your knees for him, wouldn’t it? Let him lean on the humvee and take his cock out and feed it to you.” Mike’s other hand comes up, his thumb stroking Nate’s bottom lip, then dipping in. Nate opens for it, panting. He closes his mouth and teeth on it when Mike pushes inside to rub the flat of his tongue. He’s so distracted by the salt and grit and the flex of Mike’s thumb that he hardly notices Mike opening his trousers and reaching in, until the curl of Mike’s hand around his bare cock makes him seize up with a gasp. “Yeah,” Mike goes on, kind of contemplative. “I think he’d really appreciate that.”

Nate realizes he’s going to come. It wells up in him, an abrupt tsunami of such thorough, ball-clenching pleasure that he clutches at Mike, arching his back, almost trying to escape it. He turns his head, looking for Mike’s mouth, and Mike obliges, kissing him around the thumb still hooked in the corner of Nate’s lips. It’s a confusing sensation, so many different elements at once, the taste of dip on Mike’s tongue and the greasy dirt on his thumb, the roughness of his nail against the soft give of Nate’s cheek, his stubbled chin scratching Nate’s.

When Nate’s finished coming, trembling, he sinks down from where he’d risen up on his toes. Mike’s thumb slides out of his mouth, but he kisses Nate a while longer, unhurried about it, soothing Nate’s nerves through the cold moment of letdown that always follows his orgasms. Finally, he draws away enough to speak against Nate’s wet lips. “You liked that?”

At last, Nate opens his eyes. The blistering blue sky overhead is so bright. He blames that for the prickling wetness of tears he feels. He clears his throat. “I…” He stops. There are no words left in his head. He’s just bright and cool and empty. But he knows what he wants, now. He reaches for Mike’s pants, fumbling them open, and when he’s done that, he slides down the wall onto his knees.

“Ah,” Mike says above him. He touches the curve of Nate’s head with his palm, stroking over the nape of his neck, tracing Nate’s ear with his damp thumb. He takes over from Nate, reaching into his fatigues to draw out his cock. It’s the first time Nate’s seen it, and it’s exactly what he’d imagined during the few idle, restless moments in which he’s had the leisure to daydream about sex. Good, solid, thick enough to make a fistful for Mike’s big hand, the wiry hair at the base curly and orange. Nate opens his mouth, leaning in, and Mike gives it to him.

Nate doesn’t think he’s ever been particularly good at giving head. He hasn’t done it much, and had usually been drunk when he did, and his relationships with the men in question weren’t the sort where he could ask for feedback after the fact. It doesn’t seem to matter. He lets Mike put it in his mouth, and that’s all he needs to do. Mike holds Nate’s head with one hand and the base of his own cock with the other, and does all the work. He pushes in and out, rocking into the tender spot at the back of Nate’s throat just gently enough that Nate doesn’t quite gag. He says, speaking softly, “You look good, Nate. You’re doing good.”

Nate lets his eyes slide shut again, and holds still until, a minute later, Mike murmurs, “I’m gonna -” His hand tightens on Nate’s head, his hips moving faster, and then he shoves in hard and comes in Nate’s mouth. It splashes onto his tongue and Mike pushes it deeper with his cock, grunting. It’s kind of weird, tasting jizz again, sober and in daylight this time. It’s bleachy, harsh, but Nate swallows it anyway.

Mike isn’t quick to pull out, even after he’s finished and his dick has started to soften. He spends a while touching Nate’s face, the short buzz of his hair. Nate’s knees are starting to get sore, but he doesn’t mind. After a while, Mike withdraws and gets himself put away. Nate pushes himself to his feet. He wants to put a hand back to steady himself on the wall, but doesn’t. He looks down at himself, noticing that his own come had splashed not only onto his fatigues, but Mike’s as well.

“Sorry,” he says ruefully, frowning at it. Probably no one will notice, or guess what it is if they do.

Mike follows his gaze. He shrugs. “Danger of the job.”

Nate does up his trousers, wincing at his sensitive cock, but throbbing and warm all the way through at how spent he feels. Drained, in a clear and cleansing way. “Thanks,” he says, without looking Mike directly in the eye. He straightens his rifle sling, realizing he just gave head with his M1 strapped to him. He shakes his head at himself. Talk about abuse of military property.

Mike chuckles. “Anytime.” He gives Nate a little shoulder bump as they head toward the door together by unspoken agreement.

“Hey,” Nate says, before they step out. “Um, do you think. Uh.” He feels himself starting to blush. He glances sideways at Mike, who’s looking back at him expectantly. “Brad. Have I been… obvious? About this?” He’s not even sure what ‘this’ is. A crush? A daydream he has sometimes? The plot of one-too-many sex fantasies he’s entertained over the past six months?

Mike’s expression softens. He shakes his head. “Nah.” He reaches past Nate to open the door, and sends Nate through it ahead of him with a hand on his back. As Nate steps out into the open, Mike leans in to murmur, “But if he did know, I don’t think he’d mind.”


End file.
